


My Compliments to the Chef

by mandysimo13



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cooking, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Second Date, Tumblr Prompt, greg's a bashful dove, mycroft is a nervous pony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 00:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7553602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandysimo13/pseuds/mandysimo13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt: How about Greg and Mycroft on a second date? Greg cooks for Mycroft and fluff ensues?</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Compliments to the Chef

Mycroft was loathed to admit it but when he the idea to woo the object of his affections, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, perhaps a five star restaurant was not his wisest choice.

He had wanted to share with Greg the lovely Coq au Vin that was a house specialty, the delightfully fruity wine that was aged perfectly, the decadent chocolate mousse that was sinful to behold. He wanted to point out to him the perfectly preserved French art deco of a long forgotten age that somehow managed to survive after the world war. A little touch of old world France hidden away except for those who knew where to look.

He failed to take into account the amount of unease that Greg would feel when he saw the prices on the menu. He didn’t think that having three plates, three glasses and ten pieces of silverware would overwhelm the poor detective. He should have remembered the man preferred beer to wine and couldn’t tell a £200 bottle of wine from a £20 bottle, that his palette wasn’t as developed and couldn’t appreciate the delicate interplays of chocolate, grape, smoke, and oak. He watched as Greg fidgeted in his cheaper suit that he wore to work, obviously feeling out of place amongst a higher paying class of customer.

He felt awful.

Greg did his best to assure him that he appreciated the thought. He kissed him softly and told him that he had never had someone who tried to spoil him as Mycroft did. _It would just take some getting used to is all_ , is what he had said.

He didn’t want to leave room for another screw up on his part. He told Greg as they drove to his flat to drop him off to tell him how he would prefer to spend their next date. The detective had smiled at him, eyes searching Mycroft for some input. Input that Mycroft had denied him, keeping his face calm and serene, no trace of hope for any outcome beyond a “yes” to a second date.

“Since you shared your favorite meal with him,” Greg told him, a hand reaching down to clasp Mycroft’s, “why don’t you let me cook for you and share mine.”

A measure of anxiety slipped from Mycroft. He ran a thumb across Greg’s knuckles, dropping his eyes to hide his relief. “I didn’t know you cooked.”

Greg chuckled, “I think that’s the first time you’ve admitted you didn’t know something.”

“Well,” Mycroft shrugged. “There is a limit to my resources.”

“And I’m sure Sherlock stretches it,” Greg joked.

They laughed softly and Mycroft agreed, “yes, my brother is a handful.” He finally looked back up to Greg’s face found him content. “Care to share what you’ll be cooking?”

Greg shook his head. “Nope,” he said gleefully, popping the “P” between his lips.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “You know I’m not one for surprises, Gregory. They usually don’t end well for me.”

“Unless you have any food allergies you haven’t shared with me, I think you’ll enjoy this surprise.”

Mycroft sighed, smiling at him indulgently. _I suppose I owe him one for the deplorable evening I’ve caused him,_ he reasoned. He finally raised their clasped hands and kissed Greg’s knuckles. “I suppose I can trust you to make an acceptable meal.”

Greg laughed and smacked his chest lightly with his free hand. “Oi! Thanks for the confidence!”

“I have the utmost faith in you, Detective,” he said with a sultry lilt, knowing the use of his title would have him blushing. Seconds later they arrived at Greg’s flat and Mycroft said, “how does Thursday sound for you?”

Greg nodded, ears reddened slightly. “Sounds good. Long as a locked room case doesn’t land on my doorstep or something.”

Mycroft huffed a short laugh. “Don’t let Sherlock hear you wishing against interesting cases.”

“Sherlock can sod right off.” In this case, Mycroft agreed.

 

~^~

 

Thursday arrived and Mycroft found himself standing outside Greg’s flat fighting the urge to nervously fix his tie and buttons. Greg had told him not to bring anything but his mother had taught him it was bad manners to arrive without a gift for your host. Never mind that his host for the evening was a man he was attempting to court. He settled on a six-pack of the man’s favorite beer to make up for inflicting the pricey wine on him several days prior. Greg buzzed him in and in a matter of minutes he was being ushered into the detectives small but tidy apartment, the smell of warm butter greeting him.

“You’re lucky the paperwork for the day was short. I was able to come home and make the place look less of a disaster area,” Greg told him with a smile. He took Mycroft’s coat and hung it, clucking his tongue at him good naturedly when he saw the beer. “I told you before, you silly man. You didn’t have to bring anything.”

“Consider it a balm for the “overpriced grape juice” from earlier,” Mycroft replied.

Greg laughed, carrying the six-pack to the fridge. “Let me give you the grand tour.” He showed Mycroft the small kitchen, just barely enough room for the two of them to walk in comfortably. Greg showed him through the combined living and dining room, and then a brief peek into the bedroom. They both shuffled back to neutral territory, embarrassed by the accidental implication of showing off one’s bedroom. Not that he was hoping for anything but he noticed Greg’s double bed piled with pillows and imagined the close quarters one would be in for if he was to share it.

Trying to remove that train of thought from his mind he asked, “so, what are you cooking tonight, Gregory?”

“Ah, yes, dinner,” Greg sputtered quickly, jogging back to the kitchen. Mycroft followed him, feeling not unlike a puppy following its owner, and what an image that was. “Tonight, we’re going simple but classic. Steak and potatoes with a nice salad to go with it. Brownies for dessert.”

“Steak is your favorite meal,” Mycroft said, asking the obvious question.

“Indeed it is,” Greg told him, lifting the lid off a plate, revealing two nice sized, center-cut steaks. “And because it’s a rare treat for me, it becomes all the more appreciated.”

Mycroft frowned. “I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble procuring the ingredients for tonight’s dinner.”

Greg laughed, pulling a large, cast-iron skillet out of his cabinet. “That’s ironic coming from you, spending god knows what on my uncultured arse on our first date.” He flicked his eyes towards Mycroft and immediately set the pan aside so he could focus attention on him for a minute. He kissed Mycroft’s forehead and said, “don’t be getting all sour on me, it was just a joke. And I do make a decent wage, you know. I can afford to treat every now and then.”

“I believe the phrase ‘tit-for-tat’ applies here,” Mycroft said playfully.

“Meaning?”

“Simply that if you plan on spoiling me then you must not feel uncomfortable when I decide to dote on you as well.” He added sincerely, “I will endeavor to find more…”Lestrade-friendly” ways of doing so, in the future.”

Greg smiled and said, “I’ll hold you to it.”

They chatted amiably while Greg manned the stovetop, dropping the cuts of meat on the searing hot pan, seasoning the meat simply with salt and pepper, and chopping vegetables for their salad. He told Mycroft that under no circumstances were he to lift a finger. “This is my chance to impress you with my skills in the kitchen,” he said wryly, dropping a handful of fresh tomatoes into the salad bowl.

“Forgive me, it’s been quite awhile since I’ve been waited on in the comfort of home kitchen.” He sipped the beer Greg had opened for him, enjoying the heavy yeast flavor.

“Your mum command your help in the kitchen?”

“Oh yes, and Sherlock, too. We had our own little chores to do. For a long time I did the precision work; chopping, measuring, and the like. But eventually Sherlock wanted to be more hands on and whatever didn’t have him settling the house on fire in new and exciting ways was more than good for mummy.” He took another sip before asking, “did your mother teach you to cook as well?”

Greg shook his head, “my dad, actually. Mum was a baker to her core, made all sorts of baked treats. But couldn’t make a soup or a roast to save her life.” He pulled out a few things from his cupboards to start their brownies. “In fact, it’s her brownie recipe that I’m using tonight.”

“I’m honored that you’d share a family secret with me.”

“Does that mean you’d be willing to share a few of your own,” Greg said, smiling over his shoulder as he mixed the batter.

“I might be inclined to share a recipe or two. One of our cousins developed a recipe for madeline cookies that are the lightest, delicate things you’ve ever tasted. Wonderful with a cup of tea.”

Greg poured the batter into a pan and slid it into a preheated oven. “Can’t wait.”

It wasn’t long before their steaks were ready to plate, served perfectly rare. “I hope you like your cow still mooing,” Greg joked. He set the plate of creamy mashed potatoes and juicy steak in front of Mycroft and the savory scent made his mouth water.

“I am of the firm opinion that a good steak should be pink and with minimal tampering.” Knowing the steak needed another few minutes to rest, giving it the most optimal taste and juiciness, he dipped his fork into the potatoes for a taste. He couldn’t stop the groan of pleasure he released as the buttery, creamy potatoes spread across his tongue. He opened eyes that he hadn’t given permission to close at the sound of Greg’s little chuckle.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Mycroft smiled shyly. “As it should be, they’re wonderful, Gregory.”

Greg slid into his own chair opposite Mycroft and said happily, “thank you.”

They ate slowly, enjoying each other’s company and savoring the meal Greg had prepared. Bite by bite, the salad, potatoes, and steak met in their stomachs until there were nothing but empty plates left. Halfway through, the timer on the oven sounded and Greg pulled their brownies from the oven and set them aside to cool. By the time the men finished their dinner they were just warm and ready to eat.

“Ready for dessert, then?”

Mycroft nodded and said, “there’s always room for dessert.”

“Man after my own heart,” Greg said absentmindedly before straightening harshly, realizing what he had just said. “I...I mean-”

Mycroft could feel his cheek warm, “calm yourself, Gregory. I know what you meant.”

Greg didn’t try to explain further, just nodded, biting his lip in embarrassment. He moved quickly to his freezer and asked, “vanilla good for you?”

“Ice cream sundaes? With homemade brownies? You really are going all out, this evening.”

Greg pulled out a pint of vanilla ice cream and brought it back to the counter where two bowls sat awaiting their contents. “I did say it was my chance to impress you. That whole adage “a man’s heart is through his stomach” isn’t exactly a lie.”

Feeling suddenly bold, Mycroft said, “you’ve already found your way there.” Greg’s eyes went wide and Mycroft added, “the brownies are just icing on the cake.”

Greg ducked his head to unsuccessfully hide his blush while he prepared their desserts. Once finished, he brought both bowls to the table and took up his seat again. He dipped his spoon into his own bowl and stretched his hand across the table in obvious invitation. “Tell me what you think?”

Cautiously, Mycroft leaned forward to take the spoon between his lips. His eyes fluttered closed as the velvety chocolate flavor melted over his tongue. He sighed in pleasure, pulling back slightly to release the spoon in his mouth. He licked his lips and found Greg staring at him, mouth agape.

“Something wrong,” he asked.

Greg shook his head and said, “I just...never expected you to be so...vocal.”

 _Shit_ , he cursed internally. “I...was unaware I made any sound.”

Greg licked his lips, the corners ticking upwards in a sultry manner. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Ignoring his own bowl, Mycroft stood and closed the short distance between them, leaning down into Greg’s space. He kissed him, lips pressing in soft but insistent. Greg sighed, body shifting to more easily accept the show of affection. His hands came up to frame Mycroft’s face, holding him there so as to return the kiss. His tongue flicked against Mycroft’s lips, silently requesting entry and Mycroft granted it. Their tongues met briefly, tasting each other just enough to develop a craving before Mycroft pulled back.

He met Greg’s half-lidded eyes and said, “my compliments to the chef.”

Greg chuckled and said, “smug git,” before stealing another kiss, their brownies utterly forgotten.


End file.
